More Than A Game (Epic LitRPG adventure)

Chapter 7: Into the Village, Into the Wilderness

"Rewards sound good," muttered Liutix, walking next to me. "But is anyone really going to give us anything good just like that? They'll probably just hand us each a life potion and a mana potion and call it a day."

We got to the small clan storehouse, the one I wasn't "allowed in yet." It was locked, but next to Sergeant stood a halfling with a set of enormous keys hanging on his belt.

"This," Eilinn pointed at him, "is Marcho Bigl, the keeper of the large and small clan storages and the keeper of the clan keys..."

"...for all the doors and locks." I couldn't help myself.

"Very funny. Ha, ha, ha," the keeper of the large and small storehouses, the seven seas, and all the homes of men said emotionlessly, with a quick glance at me. "Somehow, I get the feeling that you'll be last in line to the storehouse."

"That's not good," I said.

"Not good at all," agreed Marcho. "And I think we can say you'll always be last."

"But what if I come alone? And nobody else is there?"

"I'll think of something," said the storekeeper with a smile that spoke volumes. "I've got time, plus a rich imagination..."

"Okay, okay," Eilinn said in a conciliatory tone. "He already knows he made a mistake, and he'll fix it. He's still new. What can you do?"

"New is right," Sergeant butted in grumpily. "Marcho, you should have heard him talking to me yesterday!" Tattletale.

"I'll bet!" Marcho nodded his head in sympathy. "Kids these days."

"Your highnesses," said Eilinn, "we're all aware of how the grass was greener, the sky was bluer, and your socks never had holes when you were new. Maybe we can get on with this?"

Marcho, with a sniff and a groan, pushed open the massive oaken door with gorgeous inlays, and our whole friendly group tramped into the small clan storehouse.

My first impression was one of bewilderment. The clan storehouse was drawn like...oh, I don't know... Well, have you seen Warehouse 13? It looked something like that. Racks held all kinds of gadgets and different kinds of armor, and there were weapons and mummified heads of epic beasts hanging on the walls. The heads each sported a plaque that read something like:

Three-legged gorgol, poison-spitter, regenerating. Epic monster, boss. Killed by Harvey Ragnarrson during a clan raid in Khittsbro Cave near Aina.

Well, it wasn't your standard storehouse—more like a locker room. Or our unit's store room. Our storeroom keeper, a hardened warrior had a vivid imagination, and he set it up to make sure nobody would be walking around or stealing anything. You walked in, took three steps, and found yourself at the delivery window.

Marcho stepped behind the window and said, "I'm ready. First!"

"Just one second." Eilinn clapped his hands like some elementary school teacher or tour guide. "After today's test, you are now much closer to full membership in the clan. You showed us—both me and a few of the clan elite—what you can do in combat as well as in personal situations. The fact that you are here means that everything went well. And in recognition of the fact that the clan likes what it sees in you, we would like to give you a small advance in the hopes that you will like what you see in us. To be precise, we will give you equipment and weapons that match your level."

"Step up to Marcho," jumped in Sergeant." Say your name, level, and class. Take what you're given and step away."

"What if I don't like what you give me?" asked Flosi.

"Are you kidding me?" Sergeant choked. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you."

"He wasn't being clear," Oygolinn said quickly. "What he meant was, do we have to wear what we're given? I mean, if we get something better during a raid?"

"Whether you wear it or not is completely up to you," answered Eilinn. "If you don't need it anymore, you're welcome to return it to the storehouse."

Yeah, right, I thought. Once I get something, I'm not giving it up. And anyway, I can always just sell it.

The group lined up, and I found myself third.

"Hey, funny guy," said Marcho when he saw me. "Get to the back of the line."

I saw at once that there was no point in arguing with him, so I went and found Oygolinn standing at the back of the line.

"Why are you last?" I asked him.

"I was in charge, so I should be last," he answered calmly.

"You're that proper about it?"

"No, that's just the way it's done. At least, it was in another game I used to play. Whoever was in charge of the group or raid got their handout last."

"Did they hand things out a lot?"

"Yep."

The line moved quickly, as Marcho seemed to be born for his job. Everyone stepping away from the counter looked over their new acquisitions with satisfied faces.

When it was finally my turn, I rapped out, "Hagen, Level 19, warrior."

"A warrior, you say?" I couldn't tell what Marcho was saying by looking at his face, but I had the feeling he had something unpleasant up his sleeve.

"Oh, stop scaring the kid," giggled Krolina, as the veterans had gone into the storehouse with us. She wagged her finger at the storekeeper before jabbing me in the side with it. "And you, don't let him get to you."

"Our hairy little miser here likes to have fun. But he gives you good stuff, and he's honest, so don't worry about it. By the way, King Leer, did you not know that Elina herself invited him to the clan?" Reineke Lis continued.

"Really?" Marcho answered in surprise. "For something he did?"

"Who knows?" Lis responded. "But maybe you'll find out if you give him something nice."

Marcho turned and headed deep into the room, made some noise, rustled around, and shouted back, "What do you fight with?!"

"A mace!" I shouted back.

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